To Reconcile
by flannelcastiel
Summary: Like any normal couple, Dean and Castiel fight. They give the cold shoulder. But the best part of it all is making up. Explicit make-up sex. *whispers* dry sex


_**Rating:**__ R_

_**Summary:**__ Like any normal couple, Dean and Castiel fight. They give the cold shoulder. But the best part of it all is making up..._

_**A/N:**__ I had a horribly strong urge to write a little headcanon so this is really quick and I quickly proofread it once. Apologies for grammar mistakes :)_

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The reading light that is clipped to Castiel's book only illuminates their bedroom, and it's by that light that Dean hurriedly and roughly undresses. His tie is first to come off—rough fingers dig into the knot and he tugs, grinding his jaw as the fabric of his shirt rubs against the back of his neck as he pulls. He looks at Cas the whole time, eyes dark and waiting.

Look at me, he wants to say, but he doesn't because that would reveal what he really wants. Hours ago, before he left for his daylong meeting, he and Cas argued. The true purpose of it was lost to him, now, because all he remembered was the horrible things he said to Cas. What Cas said back, which were in all manner of precise, was not harsh. When they fought, Cas pressed certain few, yet impressively effective, buttons. Dean threw every thing he had with might and force that came with his temper. He wants to take it back, but he can't do shit unless Cas looks at him.

No, his nose is in that damned book instead. Even as Dean unbuttons his shirt, a spectacle that Cas never really consciously chooses to miss out on, he seems to push his nose deeper in that book. He must be aware of Dean's eyes on him, because his brows furrow with anger rather than concentration.

Dean stands at the foot of the bed now, stripped down to his boxers, and his skin is boiling. He is tempted to just grab his pillow and go sleep on the couch, but that will not ease the hot inside him. He'll toss and turn all night, thinking about Cas in here, his eyes hooded as he worships that book. He wants those eyes, dark and blue and still so mysterious even though he knows Cas like the back of his hand, all over him and drinking him like he's something to be proud of. After this morning, he doesn't feel that same affection, the fire that makes him spring to life. And he sure as hell isn't proud of himself.

Look at me, his mind screams, but he cannot vocalize anything with the lump in his throat.

He grabs the comforter and rips it off the bed. Just as firmly as he had captured the bedding, he got Cas's attention real fast. His book has fallen to the floor, along with the reading light, which shoots up into the space of the room. It's even dimmer this way now, and Dean can barely see Cas now that he's got what he wants. Those eyes on him.

"What the fuck, Dean?" Cas croaks, voice cracking from disuse. Dean climbs onto the foot of the bed and crawls up to Castiel's legs, grabs his right calf and arches it back so that his knee bends. He fights the motion, only slightly, until Dean presses his mouth against his knee. It's not a kiss, it's a rough grazing of teeth that makes Cas shiver and try to scoot a way, but Dean is latched on tight as his mouth moves higher.

He's sucking on Cas thigh when he feels a hand weave in his hair. Cas likes to tug at his hair, but this time it's a hard yank that makes Dean hiss, and Dean knows he's being pushed higher. He shakes his head, and Cas must realize his effort is futile, because Dean is marking him. He doesn't let go, but he loosens his grip on Dean's hair. Mine, he thinks as the blood swells round Dean's mouth as he sucks harder and harder, and the bruise must be deepening by now. He pops off Cas's skin and moves higher up the lean thigh until Cas own boxers cut the journey over skin short. He's hard and needy, angry and desperate, when he shoots a glance to Castiel. Even in the dim light, Dean sees him watching every movement, his mouth hanging open as he heaves his lungs for air. His lips are full and wet from his tongue licking them—he always does that, licks his mouth like its covered in sugar and he can't get it all off—and Dean needs those lips on him. He presses his hand against Cas stomach as he throws a leg across his hips. He squeezes his thighs around Cas, moaning as he brutally arches his cock, hard under his boxers, into Cas's crotch. Cas moans too, but its breathy, and Dean can feel that his cock his hard too, as he rolls his hips in circles.

Then he leans down, steals a rough kiss that has more clattering teeth than lips, and growls into it. The kiss says so much, filled with fuck yous and I need yous and I'm sorry all rolled into something that's only short of pure, unbidden ecstasy.

Cas's hands are laced around Dean's neck, and Dean raises his own arms and latches his fingers around Cas's fingers. Shackling him. The kiss breaks slightly when he slams Cas's wrists behind them, against the headboard, and he even cries out.

"Sorry," Dean apologizes as he continues the kiss, and he means it so much that he opens his mouth, allows Cas's tongue to breach the threshold, and Christ he does taste like something minty and sweet and he forces his tongue into Cas's mouth as well. Dean may have Cas pinned, but Cas is making short of the whole thing, thrust up into Dean's roll, making little sounds just like Dean loves and there is nothing holding him back when Cas starts moaning his name.

Except his anger. It's still there, beneath the passion and the honest to God love for the writhing man beneath him, but he wants it just a bit longer. There is something about make-up fucking that chills him, and its nothing you can fake. He feels himself on the edge when he lets go of Cas's wrists and pushes back, breaking the frictional contact of their cocks. He realizes how uncomfortable his dick is puckered and stagnates against his pre-come soaked boxers and peels them off. He takes Cas's off too, while he's at it, but doesn't make any move to touch it again. Cas is cursing him for stopping, calling him a son of a bitch and yanking Dean back for another hot kiss. He tries to rock their hips together but Dean shakes his head, rolling his hands beneath Cas's shirt.

"I want to see all of you," he tells Cas. "I want to see everything when I fuck you."

Cas lifts his arms, and shudders when Dean drags his blunt fingernails up his sides with deliberate hardness.

Once he's lain bare, Cas touches Dean's cheek with weak gentleness. "Dean," he whispers. "Do it. Now."

Dean's jaw clenches as he nods, understanding. Cas has already spread his legs, his erection bobbing—plump and red and needy—against his stomach and Dean gives it one stroke before pressing his own cock against Cas's tiny hole. He's never done this, gone in without prep or lube but Cas said so. And he'd meant it, by that fierce desire in his eyes—eyes that were watching him closely. Dean doesn't break that eye contact as he pushes forward, even when Cas winces and whimpers, even when Cas says not to stop and Dean kisses his knee and tries not to buckle over from bliss because goddamn—Cas has never been so tight.

He's sheathed deep within Cas now, and they are both panting and drenched, and Dean needs to move but won't. Pissed as he is, he'd never hurt Cas, but he's sure that fucking him like this is—he's not gonna make it worse by splitting his ass three ways 'til Sunday.

He leans forward and kisses Cas, trying not to back out when he feels tears flick onto his lips. Cas's tears—hot and full.

Cas sniffs and Dean pets his face, shushing and trying to calm him down. "Relax, baby," he whispers. "You're doing so good, you're always so good…too good to me." He meshes his lips against Cas's against and its soft, it's lacking of all that wildfire heat that was there and now they are slowly burning.

"Go," Cas murmurs against his lips, digging his fingernails into Dean's shoulders. "Fuck me."

He does as he's told, slowly pulling out and pushing back in. He pushes Cas's legs up higher, adjusting the angle. Dean's watching Cas's face closely, and relief floods through him when Cas's expression seizes and contracts, and he moans out Dean's name loudly. He grunts, pounding into that same place with decreasing steadiness. It's crazy and erratic, and Dean is reaching the end when he shoves his mouth sloppily against Cas's and breathes into him, breathes his air and his must and everything that makes him crazy.

"Dean, I'm—" Cas shakily murmurs, swallowing and swallowing until he can finally speak again. "Please, come in me, I wanna feel you—I love you—"

Those words shatter him and he comes with a silent scream, his face buried in Cas's neck, as he empties deep inside Cas's body. Cas whimpers seconds after, and then shouts, and his come paints white streaks across Dean's stomach, until Dean collapses to the side and their bodies become smeared with a mixture of both of them.

Cas pulls off Dean completely and rolls onto his side, facing Dean as they swallow each other's kisses through the remnants of their orgasms. Their fingers intertwine, and this is it. This is what Dean needed, to have his anger swallowed and spit out so they he could come crashing down into this—Castiel, who still makes love when Dean wants a mindless angry fuck. And when those eyes are on him, studying every inch of him—even his soul—it's like they were never angry at all.


End file.
